


In All Honesty

by thebureauisclosed (insibbegerest)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Curses, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, idiots being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insibbegerest/pseuds/thebureauisclosed
Summary: In his long life, Geralt has made some decisions that were even worse than working in an old-fashioned shithole where glancing at the ankle of a woman other than your wife was considered sinful.For example - working in an old-fashioned shithole where glancing at the ankle of a woman other than your wife was considered sinful AND bringing a bard along.(Alternatively - Geralt and Dandelion find their way to a strange little village, deal with a curse and discover some very interesting things about each other as well as themselves.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Q: Is this based on the books, the games, or the show?  
> A: Yes.  
> ...  
> (Well mostly the books but it doesn't really matter, the setting is quite vague. As long as you know that Dandelion=Jaskier, you're fine.)

Geralt had many reasons to prefer seeking contracts in smaller remote villages, the simplest and most obvious one being – there was a greater chance of landing one. Living away from civilisation had its many merits… as well as many dangers. While Geralt had helped kill monsters in bigger cities such as Oxenfurt or Novigrad, too, those occasions were rarer and truth be told, most of what he had to deal with there were either ghosts or curses (and the occasional monster hiding in the sewers). Countryside had a lot more diversity to offer, as well as fewer guards and other authority figures that people could turn to for help so that they would not have to ask a bloody witcher. 

And although villagers often seemed to detest him more, well, they needed him more at the same time. While people from big cities cursed at him less (although he could read the curses written in their cold gazes) and did not spit where he had walked as much, they often thought themselves to be oh so clever and capable of dealing with anything and why the hell would we need a witcher, they’re a thing of the old times. Many of the university graduates Geralt had met would sooner let a curse kill them than admit there was something going on with them that could not be explained with laws of physics and biology. 

In short, people coming from small shitholes knew what he was capable of, dreaded him and thought themselves better than an emotionless butcher like him. People coming from big shitholes believed they had no use for mutants and therefore thought themselves better than a sad relict of history like him. Potato, potahto... However, potatoes in villages could be bought for cheaper prices, one had more peace and quiet while dining on them in a half-empty inn and it was usually easier to convince the locals that yes, this smelly rotting thing I'm carrying around is indeed the head of a fleder, yes it is real, no it is not a fake one acquired from that alchemist living in Round Street who is mean to children and absolutely dyes his beard, yes it would have killed several of your people had I not intervened and yes I would like some gold and a place to sleep as my reward. 

Geralt had visited so many places with varying customs and traditions that cultural differences seldom caught him off guard. He remembered Sezin, where it was common to display the heads of one’s recently deceased family members at the house entrance... without the eyeballs, those you had to gouge out first and then carry them on your person for twenty-four hours, else the superstition suggested you might meet the same end as your dead relatives. Another interesting place that came to mind was Garoda, where you were only allowed to speak between daybreak and noon; anyone caught talking in evening hours risked being put in the pillory. Then there was that odd village in Redania where the locals were terrified of goats to an extreme extent. They considered the animals to be impure demonic vessels; if you touched one, the law dictated your hand had to be cut off. Well, the local spoken law did; Redania’s official law stated no such thing, but who would care about that? 

Yes, Geralt’s eyes had witnessed a great many weird things, and so the village of Dabrod seemed quite mundane to him, even if its people were even less friendly to him than he was used to. They did not say much to him or about him and were not vulgar by any means, but their gestures and behaviour betrayed what their words did not. In most places, he would happen upon one or two exceptions who observed him with curiosity and interest rather than disgust; not here, however. He could have as well been a leper, considering the way they avoided him. Whenever he chose a place in the inn for himself and Dandelion, he noticed everyone hurriedly abandoning the surrounding tables and either leaving the establishment altogether or at least sticking to the furthest corner. 

Funny thing was, Dandelion seemed more offended by their reaction than the witcher himself. Geralt had grown used to scorn, but Dandelion... let’s say staying quiet about things that upset him was not usually in his repertoire. “What are you people afraid of? That he’ll bite your head off? You’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites, is all you are. If there was a monster that needed to be taken care of, you would all be dropping to your knees in front of him, begging, offering your money and your daughters. You don’t have to deal with a real monster though, so you've decided to create one instead, haven’t you? You see a witcher and focus on all the fake superstitions and horror stories and don’t realise that a man like him could one day very well save your sorry lives. Melitele... you’re making me sick.” 

It did not surprise Geralt in the least that Dandelion’s speech did little to change anybody’s mind. And while he would rather not draw any more attention to himself than he already had purely by entering the inn, he appreciated Dandelion’s attempt to defend him. 

Not long before their arrival, Geralt had slain some endregas and received enough payment to be able to take a break from hunting for a few days. He and Dandelion had decided to head east and spend a couple of days resting in whatever village they would find first. Not that Geralt necessarily needed rest, but Dandelion had been complaining about the state of his backside after all the riding they had done and Geralt relented. 

Besides Dandelion, the only other person that had spoken to him here was the alderman. His eyes were nervous and his voice cautious, but nobody else was brave enough to approach Geralt and engage in a conversation with him, if only for a few minutes. 

Based on the conversations Geralt and Dandelion had overheard on their first day in Dabrod, it wasn’t only witchers the locals were wary of. Overall, the lot of them seemed to be very religious, strict and not exactly open to new things. 

“So your cousin and his wife... How are things between them? Haven’t spoken to either one in a while,” said a young woman sitting at a table nearby, chatting with a friend of hers. Her voice brought Geralt back to the present time. 

“He...” The other woman’s cheek reddened as she cleared her throat. “He wants to... wants to get a divorce.” By the end of the sentence, her voice was merely a whisper. “He saw Mira holding hands with another man. And... winking at him.” 

“Touching the hand of a man she was not promised to?” The young lady covered her mouth with her hand. “What a... what a strumpet!” 

At that, Dandelion was fighting laughter. “Well well, what a strumpet indeed.” 

“It’s impolite to listen to other people’s conversations,” Geralt said. 

“Oh, I know you were listening too. I could tell, when you’re focused on something, there’s always this deep frown on your face. It looks just like the frown you wear when you are not focused on anything, except a little bit... frownier.” 

“Frownier, says the poet. Uh-huh.” 

“Oh hush you, even the greatest of poets sometimes tire of all the big words and flowery metaphors, you know? I am currently working on three, no, four songs! That wears a person out, believe me. All the beautiful phrases have left me, inhabiting the pages of my journal instead and leaving my tongue a somewhat less shiny shade of silver.” 

Geralt did not say anything. 

Dandelion, of course, did. “Earlier today, I approached one of the local beauties, tried to compliment her. You would not believe how she reacted.” 

Ah. Geralt could see where this was going already. 

Dandelion continued, “She told me not to ever speak to her again and then just... ran away! Insane, isn’t it?” 

“I might regret asking, but... what kind of a compliment did you pay her exactly?” 

“That’s the weirdest part, there was nothing offensive or suggestive about it. I simply said her eyes were striking and her hair black like the most beautiful winter night.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

“No really, that’s it, I swear!” 

“So there was no mention of her, I don’t know... impressive cleavage? Or a bottom that begs to be touched?” 

“Is that how you flirt with women, Geralt? I am appalled,” said Dandelion with a smirk. “Anyway, after she ran, the folks around here were staring at me as if I was some kind of a renown criminal. And when I muttered a rather ugly curse under my breath, as one does in such circumstances, an older man sitting nearby warned me not to use such language around here! Told me that each time you curse, a flower dies, or some horse shit like that.” 

The corners of Geralt’s lips twitched. “Careful, Dandelion, I think you have just killed an innocent flower.” 

“There’s a fuckload of them around here anyway. Listen, Geralt, have you found a job here or not? I don’t like this place, how about we get out and continue our adventures elsewhere?” 

Geralt was not sure what he found more amusing – Dandelion's wounded pride or the fact that he insisted on calling it their adventures, although it was Geralt doing all the actual monster slaying while Dandelion just sort of... dandelioned around and then wrote a rhyme or two about whatever had transpired. “Meeting a man about a job here tomorrow morning. Alderman said the fellow has been cursed or something. Probably causing a ruckus here, although I don’t have the details yet.” 

Dandelion let out a laugh. “Geralt, please. Anything would be classified as a ruckus here. Honestly, I am surprised we haven’t been kicked out of here yet.” 

*** 

“How to put this mildly...” The alderman sighed. “Please pack your things and leave this place. We do not want your kind here.” 

“What?” Geralt’s brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and irritation. “You didn’t seem to mind yesterday! Told me you needed help with a curse!” 

“Ah, well, things have... things have changed since then,” the alderman said unhappily. For whatever reason, the man seemed to be keeping his distance from Geralt, took care not to maintain eye contact and held his arms crossed over his chest. Geralt was used to people being uncomfortable around witchers, but this nutcase had treated him - more or less - like a normal person the day before. So what was different now? 

“What things?” Geralt hissed. “Be straight with me. I don’t like being kept in the dark.” 

The alderman took a step away from him. “I... I am certain you know what I mean. Please leave, or... or I will call the guards!” 

“Easy,” Geralt snarled and stood up. “Not going to stay where I am not wanted. But trust me, even though I know nothing about this curse you mentioned yesterday, where there is magic involved, death tends to follow. If your people start dying, don’t come crying to me. Understood?” 

The alderman’s only response was a wide-eyed look and a shaky nod. 

*** 

“I am sorry, Geralt,” Dandelion said as Geralt was pulling himself up in Roach’s saddle. 

“About?” 

“About you not getting the job. People can be really stupid sometimes.” 

Geralt made a noise of agreement. 

“I never understood why everybody seems to dislike witchers. All you do is sigh, brood and kill the occasional monster. In my book, you’re good.” 

“Hm. Would be weird if we weren’t, since your book,” Geralt pointed at the pouch where Dandelion had been keeping his journal, “is basically all about me.” 

“That... is true.” Weird, Dandelion was blushing. If Geralt were a human, he might think it was just the sun playing tricks on him, but a witcher's senses did not deceive. Dandelion was embarrassed, although Geralt could not think of a reason for it. 

“Dandelion?” 

“Yes?” 

“You know something, don’t you.” 

“I know a lot of things, my friend. I have travelled the world, read plenty of books, listened to tales and songs-” 

“Dandelion.” 

“I... don’t know what you want to hear from me. I am not keeping anything from you, why would I? I think paranoia has taken a hold of you.” 

True to Dandelion’s description of a witcher’s favourite whims, Geralt sighed. Next to him, Dandelion was ready to mount Pegasus, his hand fiddling with the reins nervously. It annoyed Geralt that he could not see his eyes as the poet’s head was tilted down and the goddamn hat seated on it only helped to further block the view. “Fine, I will stop asking. But I know you're not being honest with me.” 

Dandelion’s hand stilled and for a few seconds he only stood there, motionless. Then he looked up and although his eyes were still hidden under the rim of his hat, at least the rest of his face was now visible to Geralt. “Yes, okay, I am sorry, it is all my fault. You see, I’ve met Mira...” 

“The... strumpet?” Of course. Geralt should have known. 

“The strumpet, yes. It turned out she really does like holding other men’s hands... well I suppose more than just their hands, but I didn’t stick around long enough to confirm that theory.” 

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment, a part of him hoping once he opened them he would find himself far away, in Skellige for example, all by himself and not having to seek ways to smooth whatever feathers Dandelion had managed to ruffle this time. “Spare me the details and get to the point.” 

Dandelion threw his hands up. “Her husband has been out of town for a couple of days, so we were spending time at her place. There were a few kisses but it was quite chaste. She is a lovely girl, but also rather shy and not one to rush things. We talked for a bit and then she asked if she could see some of my poetry. I pulled out my notebook and before I could blink, she had her hands on it and began leafing through it without my permission. She stumbled upon some... risqué pieces, so to say, and I think it really left a mark on her sweet innocent soul. She threw the book in my face and yelled at me and said that she would tell the whole village what kind of a man I am. I ran. And I assume she kept her word and warned everybody about the depraved pig of a poet who has been disgracing Dabrod with his presence. So, that is the story.” 

“That is the story of how you were driven out of the village,” said Geralt, “but it does not explain why the alderman sent me away, too.” 

“Isn’t it obvious? They’ve seen us arrive together, noticed that we are friends. Their backward little brains must have made the connection that if I am a menace to society, you can’t be any better.” 

The explanation did make some sense, but there was an annoying voice in the back of Geralt’s head letting him know something was off. Dandelion had experienced countless similar encounters, but he had never seemed as embarrassed about sharing them as he did with this one. And although the natives of Dabrod would appear to be the sort to quickly jump to stupid conclusions, the alderman had not treated him like someone who had to be preventively sent away just in case they were as perverted as their travelling companion. Something in his gaze and his posture made Geralt believe the man had a personal problem with him. We do not want your kind here, he had said. Could his head indeed be stuck up his arse so far that he would rather let a cursed person loiter about his village than ask a possibly lecherous witcher for help? 

“You sure that’s the whole story?” Geralt asked. “Didn’t leave anything out? Seems strange to me they’d have me pack my stuff just because you like the ladies a bit too much.” 

“Eh, I don’t know exactly which poems she read and how many... Maybe she happened upon one of those that mention your own conquests, too. I’m sorry you didn’t get the contract because of me but I didn’t do it on purpose, really.” 

Those words should have satisfied Geralt, but he still could not shake off the feeling Dandelion was lying to him; and his intuition was rarely wrong. But why would he lie, and what about? 

Geralt shook his head and took a quick, furtive glance at Dandelion who had just hoisted himself up on his horse. The bard was biting his lip, his expression unusually sombre. In that moment, the face that tended to glow with joy and a little bit of mischief seemed quite tired. Small wrinkles had formed around Dandelion's eyes and mouth and the man looked his age for once, not a decade younger as people usually guessed. 

“Right,” said Geralt. “Let’s go. 

*** 

They did not go, for nothing ever goes as planned in the life of a witcher. 

Geralt opened his mouth to command his horse, but the words died away as he was interrupted by a desperate cry from behind. “Master witcher! Please, wait!” 

Geralt sighed. 

*** 

"So you cannot lie.” 

“It is more than that,” the man sighed, pouring some wine for both Geralt and Dandelion. One sniff was enough to assure Geralt this was no beverage of high quality, but to hell with that. Thirst was thirst and this was no tavern, just a poor man’s kitchen. The stranger - who had introduced himself as Vesan - insisted they get off their horses and accompany him to his abode so that he could relate to them everything about the misfortune he had been struck by. Geralt listened attentively, while Dandelion’s eyes were glinting with amusement. “As a kid I’ve heard stories, fairy-tales, of people forced by magic not to lie. They could still twist the truth to some extent or stay quiet if somebody asked them a question they did not want to answer. Me, though? It’s not that I cannot lie, I cannot not speak the truth. You could ask me about the most embarrassing thing I have ever done in my life and I would share the story with you, unable to stop myself.” 

“So what is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done?” asked Dandelion. 

Vesan replied with a pained expression, “I, ah, I got drunk once... woke up almost naked in the middle of the village square, only wearing a towel to hide my, you know, private parts. It was several weeks ago, but some people still point at me and laugh and older ladies frown when they pass me by.” 

“That is not the end of the world, friend,” said Dandelion, leaning in to pat Vesan’s arm. “Happened to me more than once. I was expecting a worse story than that.” 

“Really? Well... My life isn’t exactly interesting. Wasn’t, until recently.” His face twisted into a bitter grimace. 

“So what happened?” Geralt asked, taking another gulp of the cheap wine. “That curse... how did it come to be?” 

Vesan sighed. “It went like this, witcher. There is this girl named Nola and she... she’s always been known to be a bit strange, you know? All reclusive, sullen...” 

“Ah yes, these types are just the worse,” nodded Dandelion. 

“Caught her following me home in the evening, three times in a row,” Vesan continued. “The first time I noticed her creeping behind me, ten fathoms or so, I wasn’t really paying any mind, didn’t care where she was headed. But after I got to my bedroom and looked out of my window, I saw her standing still right in front of my house, just... staring and not doing anything. I found it weird, but I was too tired to think about it and decided that there was probably some perfectly logical explanation to what she was doing that just didn’t occur to me. The next night, it happened again. The third and last time I lost my patience, ran out of my house and yelled at her to get away from my place. I got a bit carried away and called her some names a young man probably shouldn’t call a young woman, but then again a young woman has no business following a young man she barely knows home in the middle of the night and then spending long minutes watching his door, right? Especially one so weird and ugly. Could have invited her in and had some fun with her if it was any other girl, alas...” 

“You born here, Vesan?” Geralt interrupted him. 

“Ah, no, I come from Maribor. Why are you asking?” 

Geralt shrugged. “Haven’t been here long, but I feel like a regular man from Dabrod wouldn’t even consider inviting a random girl in for the night.” 

“You’re right, master witcher. These folks are awfully uptight.” 

“Agreed,” said Dandelion. “Geralt, want to bet these poor souls have to wait until after their wedding to discover that gentlemen and ladies hide something different in their undergarments?” 

Geralt did not want to bet. “What brought you here, Vesan?” 

“I grew tired of the city, wanted to try something else. But after those seven months I’ve spent here, I’m starting to miss the city terribly. Do you believe me?” 

“I do.” 

Vesan shook his head. “Not everything is bad here. It’s peaceful, and some of the locals are quite nice people, but...” 

Dandelion helped him, “Too uptight.” 

“Yes, exactly. Anyway, as I drove Nola away on the thrid night, she ran away with tears in her eyes and hasn’t returned here since. But the following day... I wasn’t able to lie anymore. It’s been a week and it’s terrible, I never really considered myself a big liar, but this thing... keeps you from saying even the tiniest lies, keeps you from using irony, forces you to say whatever is on your mind as long as it’s true. I’ve been rude to people, even the alderman, so now they are all angry with me; they’ve never been fond of foreigners, but it is much worse now. I’ve confronted Nola twice, but she claims that she has no idea what happened to me and that it wasn’t her doing. As if I could ever believe that. She was the last person I spoke to before the curse manifested itself and quite honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were some kind of a witch. She acts and looks like one; she even has this unattractive long nose.” 

“Right. As all witches do,” said Geralt. Dandelion snorted. 

“It’s how I’ve always imagined them,” said Vesan. “Magic is unnatural, so I don’t think nature would let a witch look completely natural, right? There have to be signs to warn us common people. Long noses, warts, thick eyebrows... I mean even you witchers look different. Your pale skin, yellow eyes...” 

“How about we discuss your curse and not my skin?” 

“Also, be careful how you speak of witches. Geralt is quite fond of them,” said Dandelion with a smile that weirdly didn’t seem to reach his eyes. 

“Right, right, of course. Sorry about that.” Vesan cleared his throat. “Any more wine, gentlemen?” 

*** 

Upon arriving to Nola’s house, they were not exactly welcomed with open arms. A woman in her late thirties, likely Nola’s mother, open the door and appeared anything but pleased with their presence. 

So displeased that the door shut closed in their faces immediately. 

“Perhaps I should have shaved today,” Dandelion sighed to himself. “Or used a different fragrance.” 

“I will not talk to the likes of you!” The mother shouted from inside the house. 

Geralt banged his fist against the door. “Let us in! Need to talk to your daughter.” 

“Oho, well that’s even worse than if you were here to see me! I will not let you... spoil her or infect her, or whatever it is you are planning to do!” 

“That is the last thing we want,” Geralt assured her. Did these people actually think being a witcher was contagious? Wonderful. 

“You will not sway my Nola to your side!” 

“Stop with the nonsense and listen to me for a minute, woman! We spoke to Vesan a while ago.” 

“Spoke to him? That all you did?” 

“Didn’t teach him any dark magic, if that’s what you’re imagining.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were teaching him things in the dark. Would be surprised if it was magic, though.” 

“What?” Geralt’s forehead creased as he was trying to process the woman's words. 

Meanwhile, Dandelion took initiative. “Vesan thinks your daughter cursed him. Now who is the one doing shady things, hm?” 

“Still you,” she replied icily. 

And whatever they asked her or shouted at her after, she did not waste a response on them. 

*** 

“Geralt. Remember how I was telling you about the thing with Mira?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I wasn’t being entirely honest with you.” 

“Oh really?” The sarcasm was dripping off of Geralt’s words so thickly you could collect a full jar of it. 

Dandelion sighed. “I am sorry. I just... didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You know what makes me uncomfortable? The fact that everyone here is saying cryptic things to me and wants me to get out of the village and I don’t even know why.” 

They were standing right outside of the village, close enough that people could still see them, but far enough so that they technically could not complain. Geralt would have to have a talk with the alderman or the innkeeper, probably, if they wanted to be able to finish their job here. Remind them that there is a perfectly functional steel sword on his back that he can use very well. Or, as Dandelion had suggested, that there is a perfectly functional bard by his side who could very well compose a song about all their terrible deeds and make sure it would be sung in at least six different countries. 

Another sigh, heavier, left the poet’s lips. “After reading my drafts, Mira came to a... curious conclusion. You are a witcher and an adventurer and a friend, so I don’t think it’s weird at all that most of my songs are about you, right? Well, she didn’t see it that way. Probably thought that men should only sing about women, otherwise it’s, you know, problematic. As if one’s muse only had to be romantic!” 

“She thought we are... involved,” said Geralt slowly. 

“Yes.” 

“And she told the entire village.” 

“I suppose so.” 

“Which means they’re not sending us away because I am a witcher, but because they think we... hm.” Geralt paused. “And why are you only sharing that with me now?” 

“As I’ve said already, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” said Dandelion carefully. “I was worried it might upset you.” 

“A rumour like that?” Geralt shook his head and there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’ve had far worse things said about me, Dandelion. You are the one who actually seems upset.” 

“Me? I... I am not, you’re right, there have been stranger rumours already,” said Dandelion quickly, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “You... have you met men like that before? Men who took other men as lovers, I mean.” 

“Of course I have.” Geralt was not going to mention that he himself had many times thought of men in a way that would not be considered appropriate. Especially not here in Dabrod. “They’re just people, like you and me. Couldn’t care less who they bed.” 

Dandelion looked up at him, his expression and posture suddenly more relaxed. “That’s a good kind of approach. Rather modern, if you ask me.” 

“Could you return to Mira now, explain her that she got things wrong?” 

Dandelion started shaking his head before Geralt even finished his question. “No, no, that’s useless. I have tried all of my best smiles and arguments and none of them bore fruit.” 

“Then you go explain it to the alderman. The man seemed to be less stupid than the rest.” 

“I guess I can try that. You coming with me?” 

“Nah. Us walking everywhere together isn’t probably helping this whole thing. I’ll wait here.” 

Dandelion shrugged. “As you wish, master witcher.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know this chapter is shorter and it took me an embarrassingly long time, so I apologise for that.  
> Stay healthy and take care of yourselves <3

He stormed into the inn, spotting the alderman immediately. The man appeared to be discussing something with the innkeeper; no serious matter, judging by their easy smiles. Dandelion headed towards them, not caring at all if he was interrupting, and cried out jovially, "Why hello there, I have been looking for you!" He noted with amusement that whenever he took a step closer, the alderman backed away a little. Between him and Geralt, Dandelion was not used to being the one who frightened people. 

He was definitely going to enjoy this. 

The alderman turned to face him. "I… thought I spoke quite clear earlier. I want you and the witcher out of here," he said stiffly. 

The innkeeper dropped his gaze and began cleaning the counter. He had to be interested in what the two had to say, because he looked more disinterested than a truly disinterested man ever could. 

"My apologies, what was your name again? I must have forgotten." 

"I didn't tell you." 

"Well then." Dandelion curtsied mockingly. "Greetings, my name is Dandelion, I am sure you've heard of me. Poet, bard, musician, troubadour, writer, artist, learned man and lover. When I say lover, I mean lover of women and women only, obviously. I have absolutely no interest in men and their strong muscular bodies, their sharp jawlines and hard features – some harder than others – and…" 

The man groaned and rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "What do you want?" 

"Your name, first of all. If you would be so kind," said Dandelion, smiling innocently. 

"Tarrik." 

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" Dandelion reached out to lightly pat the other man's shoulder. 

Tarrik winced. "I will ask you one last time. What do you need from me?" 

"Believe it or not, the witcher and I came here to help people, which should have guaranteed us a much warmer welcome than the one we have received. We have a job here and we won't leave until it is finished. After that, however," Dandelion raised a finger, "we will disappear and make sure to stay out of your sight. Forever. What do you say?" 

"You can find work elsewhere, I don't see why you should dally here." 

Dandelion tsked and stepped forward. Tarrik stepped back. Once more. Again, until the alderman's back hit the wall. 

The entire inn held its breath. The innkeeper glanced up for a split second before turning his attention back to a particularly nasty stain on the counter. 

Dandelion's hand found its place on the wall right above Tarrik's shoulder. "We only want to help Vesan, which I believe is very kind of us. It saddens me that you would let one of your people suffer because of a scandalous and absolutely untrue rumour-" 

"Mira has no reason to lie," Tarrik said sternly. "And according to her, there was no way to misinterpret what you wrote about -" 

"Ah, poetry can always be misinterpreted, trust me." Dandelion's smile grew wider, but also more strained. He leant forward, taking delight in the way Tarrik flinched. "How about you give us one day? No more, no less. Then we will stay out of your hair… Fine hair, by the way," Dandelion added, brushing a strand of Tarrik's greying hair away from his face. 

(The hair was not fine, not by far, but the lie was worth the expression it put on the alderman's face.) 

"One day," Tarrik rasped. "No more…" 

"…no less," Dandelion finished with a small nod. He let his arms fall back to his body, turned away from the alderman and left the inn. 

*** 

Oh wait. 

*** 

"Tarrik!" 

The alderman closed his eyes and sighed. "I thought this conversation was over." 

This time, Dandelion decided to show some respect and keep his distance. It occurred to him he should make use of the man's company while he could; Tarrik's knowledge of the village and its history might come in useful, but he was not sure Tarrik would be amenable to have another conversation with either him or Geralt later. "Almost." He thought back to all those times he had witnessed Geralt gather information, tried to recall what kind of questions the witcher would ask. "The curse… Is it the first time something like this happened in Dabrod?" 

"In my lifetime? Yes." 

"And before that?" 

"How would I know?" 

Dandelion rolled his eyes. "Hearsay? Records?" 

Tarrik shook his head. 

"Alright. Great. That didn't work." Dandelion paused. What else would Geralt… "If not a curse, has any other strange stuff happened around here? Monsters, magic, shameless poets?" 

"Not in my lifetime." 

"You're not particularly helpful, my friend." 

The alderman frowned. "This place is calm and quiet most of the time. The occasional fair or festivity is all the excitement we get, thankfully. The only thing that comes to mind…" 

"Spit it out." He could not help but add, "And that is not a sentence I say very often." 

Tarrik's eyes were throwing daggers at him. "The only thing that comes to mind," he repeated slowly, "is that a witch used to live here several generations ago. Or so some people say. She made teas and ointments, gave people wise advice and all that." 

"Did she have a long nose and thick eyebrows?" 

"What?" 

"Nevermind." _What happened to her?_ said Geralt's voice inside his head, and Dandelion repeated it out loud. 

"She died." 

"How?" 

"Like people die. I don't know, old age probably. All I've heard is that her ashes were scattered around the village, apparently so that she could watch over Dabrod and its people even after her death." 

_Any living relatives?_ Geralt asked. 

"No, I don't think so." 

_Where did she live?_

"You walk out of the inn, it's the fourth building to your right. But I don't see how that could be related to whatever happened to Vesan…" 

"All things are related, in one way or another," said Dandelion theatrically. 

"Ugh. Is that all? Will you leave me alone now?" 

"I think so, yes. Does it make you sad?" 

The alderman's responding sigh was undoubtedly one of relief. 

*** 

“I’ll wait here, says the grouchy witcher, eyes stern, voice deep. I'll wait here, he claims, yet his word he cannot keep.” The rhyme wasn’t even a particularly good one, but in Dandelion's defence, he was only trying to fight off boredom, not win anybody's heart or coin. He had arrived at the meeting spot about half an hour ago with Geralt nowhere to be seen. Anybody who has ever encountered a minstrel would tell you they rarely managed to keep their mouths shut for longer than five minutes, and so it was no wonder that with no company, this one resorted to talking to himself. “The foolish bard now must decide, should he leave, or pray, or weep?” 

“Pray all you want. The other two options I wouldn’t recommend.” 

Dandelion started and looked over his shoulder. “Fuck, Geralt! Didn’t see you. What took you so long?” 

“You were the one taking forever, so I thought I'd take care of one errand quickly.” 

“What errand?” 

“Went to check Nola's house again. Didn’t try to talk to her this time, just examined the surroundings, wanted to see if something would catch my eye.” 

“And?” 

Geralt shook his head. 

“That’s good. And bad. Good because I hate it when you find interesting things without me around and bad because... well, because we're not any smarter. Except!” He raised his voice triumphantly. “Apparently a witch used to live here.” He proceeded to relay the entirety of his conversation with Tarrik to Geralt, with a few dramatic pauses added for effect here or there. He ended his speech with, “I’m a genius, don’t you agree?” 

“A witch you say.” Geralt didn’t explicitly agree, but he didn’t disagree either, so Dandelion was going to take that as a compliment. “Might not be related to our problem at all.” 

“Come on, Geralt! Your snooping around Nola's house solved nothing, so this is the only lead we have.” 

“Hm. I still think we should talk to the girl. Could know something.” 

“Or not.” 

Geralt smirked. “You really want to be right, don’t you?” 

“You’re one to talk, dear witcher. Five copper says the dead witch is involved somehow.” He reached out his hand towards the witcher. 

Geralt shrugged and shook it. 

*** 

They got to talk to Nola for about five minutes before her mother rushed in, dragged her daughter away from the window and ordered them to get lost. 

So they returned to the inn and got lost (in their tankards). There was enough beer to lighten their moods and loosen their tongues a bit, but not enough to get them truly drunk. Hell, they had both travelled with dwarves before, they were no light weights. 

“So, to sum up what we've learned this evening,” said Dandelion upon finishing his tankard, “this place is covered with dead witch ashes, the alderman wants us gone – whether he’s driven by aversion or jealousy I dare not guess...” 

“Jealousy?” 

Dandelion laughed. “Well, with these prudish bores you never know if they despise you because you’re different or because they themselves are too afraid to stray from the norm. To continue... Nola's mother is anything but a delight, Nola seems a bit strange but hopefully still might bloom into an attractive woman someday. When Vesan gets angry, allegedly his face turns red, the vein on his temple gets more pronounced and he uses words that rhyme with 'hunt' but start with a c... It has been an interesting day I have to admit, but unfortunately not interesting enough to become the subject of my next piece.” 

“The rest of the night could still prove you wrong.” 

“That is very true.” A new tankard was placed on the table in front of Dandelion. He raised it and smirked. “What shall we drink to?” 

“You come up with something, you're better at this stuff.” 

“To bards and witchers then! People may not always appreciate what we do, but we save lives all the same.” 

A small smile crossed Geralt's face. “Bards save lives?” 

“Well certainly, in their own way. The demons that walk the land and swim the seas, those may fall to your sword. The demons in people's minds, however... those can only be chased away by art. Be it stories or paintings or melodies, art can take you to another world where your petty problems cease to exist.” 

“Another world, you say? Should we be worried about another Conjunction taking place and swarming the cities with all the imaginary women you’ve written your songs about?” 

“They’re not...” Dandelion paused and frowned. “I mean, most of them are based on real women, I have only changed their names for discretion. And some actually...” He put a hand over his mouth and stood up so quickly his chair hit the ground. 

Perplexed, Geralt watched his friend dash to the door and out. 

*** 

“What’s wrong, Dandelion? Come on, we didn’t drink that much.” Geralt’s tone was light, but if you knew him well enough, you would recognise a hint of worry. 

“We didn’t. Damn it! Geralt, ask me what my name is.” 

“What?” 

“Just do it.” 

Geralt raised his brow, questioning his friend’s sanity. “Fine. What is your name?” 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Shit!” Dandelion yanked off his hat angrily and threw it on the ground, looking as though he was half-ready to start jumping on it and screaming. 

“You’re starting to worry me, Dandelion.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I am currently also worried about myself plenty.” Dandelion looked thoughtful for a bit, then opened his mouth as if to say something. No words came out. 

“Dandelion, really. What the...” 

“The curse, I have it. Don’t know how it happened, but I can’t speak lies,” said Dandelion, fingers buried in his hair and eyes wide with panic. 

“What? That’s weird, curses aren’t contagious, they don’t work like that.” 

“Then explain why I am like this!” 

“Perhaps just your confidence caught up to you and now you wish to become the most honest man on the continent?” 

“I would give you an ironic response to that, but irony is technically a lie, so my mouth won’t let me.” Dandelion pouted. “We have to fix this.” 

“First you’ll tell me what happened with Mira.” 

Dandelion’s eyes went comically wide. “Mira?” 

“Yes. If you want me to solve this, I have to know everything.” 

“I really don’t think it's related.” 

“I am the witcher here, so let me be the judge of that.” 

“I think this is really unfair of you, abusing my unfortunate condition like this. A true friend would leave the matter alone and trust my judgement.” Dandelion spoke slowly and with difficulty. Apparently, playing for time wasn’t something the curse approved of. 

“I’ve known you long enough not to trust your judgement when it comes to women. So?” 

Dandelion closed his eyes and sighed. His face tensed as though he was in pain. "Just so you know, I would never tell you this if I was in my right mind. And I… am sorry." 

"What you are is testing my patience." 

"I think you will understand the best if I just… show you." Suddenly Dandelion's hand flew towards Geralt, clenching the bard's most precious possession; his notebook. The witcher snatched it out before Dandelion could change his mind. “Normally I would tell you that poetry is poetry and sometimes it's written just because the words in it sound sweet together, but that wouldn’t be true. Poetry is more than that. In one way or another, it is always honest and allows you to peak into its author's soul. Sometimes the truth is plain, sometimes concealed under metaphors and parables and allegory, but never absent. In this case... it is very plain.” 

“None of your babbling is plain to me,” said Geralt and gave the notebook a questioning look. “What exactly do I do with this?” 

“Read the last few pages. And...” Dandelion bit his lip and sighed. “If possible, don’t hate me. We've been through a lot, haven’t we? So please keep in mind that first and foremost, you are a very dear friend to me and I would hate to lose you.” 

“Now you're really starting to worry me,” Geralt muttered under his breath, flipping to the end of the book. 

Then, he began to read. He spent several minutes frowning solemnly at the pages in his hand until he slowly lifted his gaze. A trickle of sweat travelled down Dandelion's face. 

“I... have definitely read better pieces from you,” Geralt said eventually, a mask of apathy carefully positioned to protect whatever was on his mind. “Did you really write that my lips are –“ 

“Geralt.” 

“- and that my arms –“ 

“Geralt, please.” 

“- and that you've had dreams where I –“ 

Dandelion rolled his eyes. “Dear Melitele... You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“Kind of. And I am also kind of trying to recover from the fact that one of my closest friends has secretly been writing erotic poetry about my humble self. Pardon me if I am somewhat caught off guard.” 

“Do you want me to leave now?” 

“What?” 

“Should I pack my stuff and hit the road before you unsheathe that long sword of yours –“ 

“And by that you mean my actual sword? I'm not sure, considering what I've just read.” 

Dandelion's cheeks were getting redder by the second, but he did not address the jape. “ – and cut me into several smaller Dandelions because you are furious with me now?” 

“I am not angry.” 

“Are you sure? What are you, then?” 

“First and foremost, your very dear friend,” Geralt mocked Dandelion’s earlier words. 

“Yes, yes, undoubtedly. And other than that?” 

“Other than that...” Geralt paused. He didn’t lie about not being angry; neither did he feel disgusted, betrayed nor anything of the sort. He was taken aback, mildly amused and perhaps even curious and flattered, but this was all very sudden and he could hardly provide Dandelion with a satisfying answer when he wasn’t even able to give it to himself. “Got work to do here, let’s focus on that and then we can talk about... you wanting to count my scars with your tongue.” 

Dandelion made an embarrassed sound, his gaze flitting anywhere but to Geralt. He went to pick up his hat from the ground and brush away the dirt from it with a failed attempt at nonchalance. “Work. Yes. Right. Please imagine me ironically saying that I couldn’t be more ready and focused on the task.” 

Geralt huffed a small laugh. “Good. Anything else happened with Mira that I should know about?” 

Dandelion sighed. “No. I wanted to show her some of my... more decent poetry, but this was what she accidentally saw. Then I took to my heels, the sound of her screaming ringing in my ears.” 

“Do you think she could have cursed you?” 

“I don’t think so,” the bard shook his head, once again adorned with his faithful hat. “I didn’t hear her say anything that would sound like a curse to me. And whatever this is, it only started now.” 

“Hm. We will check the old witch’s house at midnight. If we find nothing, we can ask if Vesan knew Mira. Don’t think it’s her doing, but it’s not impossible.” 

Dandelion nodded, still blushing and unusually quiet. He frowned at his notebook as though it had caused all of his life troubles and returned it to his bag. Geralt wished he knew what the bard was thinking; then again, reminded of the lewd verses his eyes had just witnessed, perhaps it was better being kept in the dark for once. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you put in these things? Is it supposed to smell like that?” 

Geralt had drunk a potion that allowed him to see in the dark, but Dandelion still insisted on swinging a torch around, allegedly to help Geralt work more precisely. They both knew the witcher was in no need of his assistance, but if it made Dandelion feel better, then what the hell. 

“It’s supposed to hurt spectres, it’s not a bath oil,” Geralt replied while carefully applying a thick coat of oil to the blade. 

“Are you expecting a fight?” 

“Always.” 

“Geralt?” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you think the curse could have other effects that we haven’t noticed yet?” 

“If there’s a rash on your balls that won’t stop itching, I think you should search for the cause elsewhere.” 

Dandelion snorted. “And they say witchers have no sense of humour.” 

“We don't. What effects did you have on mind?” 

“There’s just something... wrong with this village.” 

“You say that about every village where you're unable to get laid. And this time, that was entirely your own fault.” 

“But Mira definitely did enjoy my company! Well, until she didn't.” 

“Until she didn't,” the witcher agreed. 

Five seconds of silence. 

“No but really, it is an odd place,” Dandelion continued, unwilling to abandon his suspicions. “Since our arrival, everyone's eyes have been shooting daggers at you, but not one person tried to pick a fight with you, spill beer on your lap or otherwise. They are unusually coy in their hatred.” 

“Or you're just taking it personally, because this time they're pointing their accusing fingers at you too.” 

Dandelion frowned. “Are you suggesting that I only care when things are about me? You know that's not true! Everybody in their right mind prefers praise to scorn and if I could spend the rest of my life without having another uncultured swine throw fruit at me, I would be a happy man. But I am not going to fall on my knees and cry because of a few mean looks. And if you haven't noticed until now, I get into more arguments for defending you than for defending myself.” 

Geralt sighed. “I wasn’t suggesting that and I have noticed. And you know you don't have to keep doing that.” 

“A thank you would suffice.” 

“Thank you, but you’re being a stubborn idiot.” 

“Your ways of showing appreciation could use improving, but it’s a start.” Dandelion flashed him a smile. 

The loud tone of an ox horn cut through the night, followed by a man singing _it’s_ _midnight, midnight has come!_

“What a polite fellow, most night watchers prefer something along the lines of _it's_ _midnight for fuck’s sake, get off the streets or I’ll shove my cane so deep in your arse the other end will come out of your nose._ Shit Geralt, is it just me or did it suddenly get really cold?” 

“Probably a sign to get off the streets,” said Geralt, took a look around and then headed towards the house. “Follow me.” 

*** 

Geralt had met his fair share of witches, as well as a fair share of ghosts. What they tended to have in common was – holding grudges, screaming a lot, being unnecessarily dramatic and nearly impossible to get rid of. Now, for a witch ghost, all those fine qualities should logically be amplified. Geralt was not looking forward to that, but what had to be done had to be done. 

“This way,” Geralt muttered, carefully climbing the old wooden staircase that looked like it might collapse if you sneezed too loud. The vibrations and warmth emanating from his medallion intensified with each step. 

“Can you sense something?” Dandelion asked quietly, noticing how the witcher’s hand automatically reached up to touch the medallion. 

Geralt nodded. “Don’t know what it is yet but the vibrations are weak. Might be just a magical object or a being without much power left. Still, it’ll be safer if you shut up.” 

“Right,” Dandelion nodded, following him up the stairs. 

Nobody had visited the house in years, that much was apparent. The smell of molds, mildew and dust was filling up their nostrils, the floor creaking underneath their feet. Glancing around the bedroom they had found themselves in, there wasn’t much left of it other than a few ancient pieces of furniture not even the poorest and most desperate beggar would accept as a gift. 

“Cosy,” said Geralt while Dandelion wiped a layer of dust off the table and crinkled his nose. The witcher then proceeded to examine the room and opened the cabinet and the chest at the foot of the bed, a light frown on his face. “All empty. No objects her soul could be tied to. Guess we’ll have to try to summon her the old way.” He raised his voice. “Hey! Is anybody here?” 

“Weren’t we supposed to be quiet?” Dandelion said under his breath. 

“ _You_ were supposed to be quiet. You there, witch! We mean you no harm, we are here to speak to you. Ask a few questions.” 

“Yes, such as - why are you cursing people?” Dandelion joined in. “I haven’t done anything to you, you undead shrew, remove that spell of yours right now!" 

A laughter echoed through the room, but it sounded nothing like the vengeful spectres Geralt had encountered before. No eerie screeching, no mischievous cackle that makes blood freeze in your veins. No, what they heard was a surprisingly rich and warm sound. _And whatever shall happen to me if I refuse your polite request, dear boy?_ The voice would be best described as matronly. 

“I will... kick your bed, repeatedly! And burn your house down.” 

“Dandelion, leave the talking to me," said Geralt. “And you... are you the witch who used to live here?” 

_‘Tis_ _I, yes. I do not know if I would call myself a witch, merely a woman with some common sense and knowledge of nature._

“Oh yes, that sounds exactly like the kind of thing a woman might be burned at a stake for,” nodded Dandelion. “Well, dear merely a woman, would you be so kind as to break this curse I appear to suffer from?” 

_‘Tis_ _not so simple, dear boy. A price must always be paid._

“What do you want?” Geralt jumped in before the minstrel could say something that would only make things worse. 

_Very little, actually. Would you believe me if I said that I only want the world to be a kinder place than it is?_

This time, Geralt was not fast enough. Dandelion spoke, “You know what would make the world kinder, in my opinion? If you helped me with my little problem, which, I hope I do not have to remind you, you and only you are to blame for.” 

_As I have told you before, a price must be paid. Those who use foul words have foul thoughts and must be taught a lesson._

“Could you possibly be more specific?” Geralt asked. 

_I looked after_ _Dabrod_ _when I was alive and I swore to do so even in my death. I asked for my ashes to be scattered all around the village so that I could forever be a part of it. I am in its ground, in its trees, grass and wind. I am its heart and its soul and I love all of_ _Dabrod’s_ _children dearly, but when they misbehave, they must be punished._

Dandelion blinked. “So you punished me for... foul words, is that it?” 

_You should know the importance of words better than anyone, young poet. They are the stones society stands_ _on,_ _they are what makes us human. In the right situation, a word can cause more harm than a sharpened sword. Profanity is a poison and each expletive_ _is_ _like a drop of oil that trickles into the ocean until there is a hundred such drops, then hundreds of hundreds, then tens of hundreds of hundreds and the entire ocean is unhabitable. Do you understand?_

“Perfectly,” said Geralt. “Now how does one, hm, atone for such sins?” 

_I have several requests, if he fulfils them, it shall convince me that his mother perhaps did raise him right after all and his soul is not lost.”_

“What are your requests?” 

_Request one, apologise for your foolishness. Request two, swear to do better in the future. Request three, be honest to yourself as well as those around you. Request four, honour your parents. Request five, eat more vegetables, they keep your body and mind healthy. Request six, be kind to others. Request seven..._ For the first time, her voice was almost mournful and it wavered slightly. _Perhaps bring me a flower, nobody has done that in a very long time._

“Wait what, vegetables? Are you serious? You’re a ghost that flies around telling people to add more celery to their diet?” Dandelion cried out. 

There was no response. 

“Hello?” 

“I think she told us all she wanted to tell,” said Geralt. “Let’s get out of here before she changes her mind and decides to add _you_ to her diet.” 

“But really, Geralt! Can a curse be lifted by eating celery?” 

Geralt closed his eyes shortly, then grabbed Dandelion’s arm and headed for the stairs. 

*** 

“The problem with tradition is, nobody questions it and nobody cares where it came from. It is tradition, that is all that matters. You ask people why they burn witches, they tell you it is because they are evil. You ask them how they know, they tell you it has always been that way. You ask men why they would not marry a woman that has been raped, they tell you it’s wrong. You ask them why it is wrong, they say it has always been wrong. You ask people why they avoid witchers, they tell you...” 

“Let me guess. They tell you it’s because people have always avoided witchers.” 

Geralt nodded. “People keep forgetting their history and they always end up paying for it. One day, a witch ghost began punishing the villagers of Dabrod for impolite speech, they got scared and started talking like books. Now they just act like that because it is all they know, because it has always been that way. And when things go wrong, like they did this time, they don’t know what to do because they forgot. And they will keep forgetting.” 

“You are making it sound a lot more serious than it is, Geralt. And I am saying that as someone who was cursed with this thing until about an hour ago.” 

“That’s not the point, Dandelion.” 

“I know, I know. It is all a part of a bigger story, one where mankind refuses to learn from its past until everybody dies in misery. Why don’t we choose a nicer topic? Those moody philosophical talks of yours could give a jester depression.” 

“Your ditties could make a depressed man into a jester again, so no harm would be done. Look, there he is. Vesan, come and join us.” 

Vesan looked around uneasily and was met with judging glances from regulars all over the inn, but continued on his way to the witcher’s table. “I am not going to have a good time here after you two leave,” he whispered. “Being seen in the company of a witcher would be enough to damage my reputation by itself, but a witcher with... unusual interests? Everybody will start avoiding me.” 

“My heart breaks for you,” said Geralt wryly. “Can you read?” 

“I’ve told you I originally come from the city, haven’t I? Of course I can read.” 

“Good. Wrote down some instructions for you.” Geralt waved a piece of paper in front of the man’s face and then placed it on the table. “Follow these and the curse will disappear.” 

Vesan began to read, his lips moving slightly. When he looked up, there was a deep frown on his face. “Is this a joke?” 

“No.” 

“Honour my parents? Eat more vegetables? You cannot mean this.” 

“I didn’t believe it either, but it worked,” said Dandelion cheerily. “Honouring your parents is easy, I wrote a little poem about my mother and apparently it was enough. Then I stopped in the middle of the street and started yelling that I was sorry about all the mean things I have done and that I was going to become a better person. I bought some carrots, stole a few flowers from the witcher’s endless supplies and made them into an improvised bouquet, complimented a random woman’s dress and suddenly I could lie again. A wonderful feeling, really.” 

“If you two are pulling my leg...” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Geralt assured him. “The curse was cast by the ghost of an elderly woman who believes she is protecting this village from evil.” 

“What? I am not evil!” 

“I am not saying you are. However, this woman did not like you comparing Nola to female genitalia.” 

“She deserved it!” Vesan cried out defensively. “Besides, isn’t stalking strangers a bigger crime? Shouldn’t the ghost be more concerned about that?” 

“Ghosts don’t tend to be very reasonable.” 

“Apparently. Did you kill it?” 

Geralt shook his head. “She is relatively harmless. If you want to be able to curse and insult people freely, perhaps it is time you returned to Maribor.” 

“You know what, I have had the exact same thought. It’s not the greatest of all places, but compared to Dabrod it is paradise.” Vesan sighed. “I suppose I should thank you for your help, witcher.” 

“Hm. Now, where is my payment?” 

“Will one hundred and fifty orens be enough for you?” 

“It will do.” Geralt accepted the offered pouch with money, weighed it in his hand and nodded. “Now we’ll be on our way before the alderman starts chasing us with a pitchfork in his hands. Good day to you.” 

“And you,” Vesan muttered as he folded and pocketed the piece of paper. “Innkeeper! Where is my beer?” 

*** 

Without any further delay, Geralt and Dandelion let their horses carry them away from the madness of Dabrod. They agreed they had spent more than enough time seeking job in the countryside and decided to travel to Pontaria. The journey would not take too long and Dandelion claimed he would be curious to see what had changed in the fiefdom since his last visit several years ago. 

"Should we be expecting any trouble, Dandelion?” Geralt asked when they were taking a break at the riverside, stretching their stiff bodies and allowing their horses to quench their thirst. 

“I thought you always expect trouble.” 

“I meant any particular trouble stemming from your last trip to Pontaria.” 

“Me, causing trouble? Unheard of.” 

“Now I can really tell your curse is gone.” 

Dandelion laughed. “I was only passing by back then, I don’t think any of the locals should be holding grudges against me.” 

“Good.” 

“So,” Dandelion cleaned his throat. “I feel like we should address the chimera in the room, shouldn’t we?” 

“That chimera being your lovely poetry?” 

“Yes. You know now what my... thoughts and feelings are, but you haven’t revealed any of yours. All you’ve said is that you aren’t angry with me, which is a good start, but besides that?” He shrugged and chuckled. “I don’t know if you think there is something wrong with me and want to forget anything happened, or...” 

“I don’t want to forget.” 

“No?” Dandelion held his gaze, eyes blue like cornflower, bright and hopeful. No matter how much time has passed and how many unpleasant situations he has been through, there was always a youthfulness and optimism about him that would never cease to amaze Geralt. His golden locks were fluttering in the wind and Geralt had to admit that even his terrible hat and awful stubble had somehow become endearing to him because, well, they were a part of Dandelion. The man was undeniably handsome – which raised the question why he would even be interested in a mutant like him, but Geralt was not going to dwell on that now – and Geralt had been wondering for some time what physical intimacy with a man would be like, so it would be stupid of him to waste an opportunity like this, wouldn’t it? 

The only thing that was making him hesitant was their friendship. Yes, he was not going to deny that the more he imagined it, the more he enjoyed the idea of stripping Dandelion of all that unnecessary clothing and having a bit of fun in the grass right there and then, but these kind of things often complicated relationships and he wasn’t sure if he was willing to jeopardise what the two of them had. “Dandelion. How long have you wanted this?” 

“For a while,” Dandelion admitted. “I have always found you attractive, but the longer I have known you, the more I have felt being pulled towards you. I am not able to ignore it anymore.” 

“So you’re sure you wouldn’t regret this?” 

Dandelion’s laughter was one of disbelief. “Me? No, of course not. I know what I want, Geralt.” 

“What do you want, then?” 

“Many things.” Dandelion licked his lips, tilted his head closer to Geralt’s and whispered, “For example I could get on my knees and suck your dick until you forget how to speak, what do you say?” 

“I think that could be arranged,” said Geralt in a strained voice. 

“Wonderful. But before that, we should discuss some sort of... rules.” 

“You mean safe words?” 

Dandelion threw his head back and laughed. “We can get to that later if you want, but I had something else on my mind. As you have surely noticed, I very much enjoy the company of beautiful women... and men, in some cases.” 

“Really? So you are not celibate?” 

“No more than you are, my dear witcher,” Dandelion replied with a playful glint in his eyes. 

Geralt smirked. “I am not going to clip your wings and stop you from cavorting with others, if that is what you were worried about. I am not a jealous man.” 

“Good, because neither am I.“ Dandelion winked at him. “But... I want you to know that in the end, I will always come back to you. Unless you get tired of me and find another young talented wordsmith, of course” 

“I won’t get tired of you, Dandelion.” Geralt's words sounded sincere. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“I am glad to hear that.” 

Geralt had never been one to favour words where deeds sufficed. He pulled Dandelion close and kissed him, savouring the sweetness of his lips and the unfamiliar feeling of stubble against his chin. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, how about we try out that activity you suggested earlier?” He asked in a raspy voice. 

“You know I couldn’t say no to you, Geralt. Besides... I always deliver on my promises.” 

And deliver he very much did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case you're confused - Dandelion cursed when he was waiting for Geralt and Geralt startled him. They both also used some "adult language" in the inn, but the witch's powers only work outside because she is a part of Dabrod's nature.)
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting! It means a lot to me!
> 
> Take care and stay strong in this fucking apocalypse <3


End file.
